


You Just May Be the One

by hello_goodbi



Category: The Monkees, The Monkees (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 11:20:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11126004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hello_goodbi/pseuds/hello_goodbi
Summary: In which Mike has some feelings for Micky (and some trouble dealing with them)





	1. Chapter 1

Mike vaguely heard Micky say something, his voice going high and low in all the right places to make even the grumpiest of people -- Davy, in this case, who’d just had his heart ‘broken’ by yet another girl -- laugh.

As Davy’s laughter died down, Mike couldn’t help but think of a few things he’d like to do to Micky that’d have the drummer’s voice doing all sorts of-

 _Shit_. No. Mike couldn’t think like that. He tried to force the thoughts out of his head, and eventually came to the realization that his three bandmates were all staring at him.

“Mike?” Peter prompted, and Mike looked at him blankly. “Mike, Micky asked you a question.”’

“Em,” Mike collected himself, “what’d you say, Mick?”

“We’re going out for the night. Help Davy get over,” Micky tried to remember the girl’s name. Though Davy’d told them about it just minutes ago, there were so many girls for him it was hard to keep them straight. “Valerie.”

“Valleri!” Davy protested.

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but you spelled it wrong,” Davy pouted.

“Well,” Mike interrupted, “that doesn’t sound much like a question. But I’m up for it.”

“Just don’t you get drunk,” Micky teased, making Davy laugh again. Mike admired the drummer for that. Micky could make anybody laugh at any time, and it was a skill Mike was more than a little envious of.

“Oh, right, Micky,” Davy grinned, “we _really_ have to worry about ole Tex here getting tipsy.”

“Now, don’t you call me ole Tex,” Mike scolded, swatting playfully at the short man. Davy was right, though. Mike could hold his liquor very well, and the boys had only ever seen him truly drunk once.

“Well, boys,” Micky arched an eyebrow and rubbed his hands together as though he was planning an evil surprise, “whadya say we get going?”

“Peter, you comin’?” Mike asked as the group started walking towards the car. Never one for alcohol, Peter rarely accompanied the group on their trips to bars, but tonight was an exception.

“I think I will.” Peter had his trademark grin on his face as he followed the rest of the band to the car. Though he was the unofficial ‘leader’ of the group, Mike fell back behind his friends. He’d never willingly refuse the chance to catch a glimpse of Micky’s ass in the almost-too-tight pants the drummer always wore.

“You’re being a bit obvious, love,” Davy stood on tiptoe to whisper to Mike, who instantly dropped his eyes away from Micky. Davy had sort of accidentally learned about Mike and his affection for Micky when the door to the bathroom hadn’t been shut all the way as Mike, uh, showered. In a weird way, though, Mike was oddly glad that that had happened, because Mike would’ve given himself away dozens of times if not for his friend’s help.

“The miracle of nature,” Micky said as he pulled open the door to the car, “a dwarf and a giant, interacting in their natural environment!”

“Are you ever not jokin’?” Mike smiled and shook his head softly as he climbed into the driver’s seat. As the unofficial leader of the group, such joys as driving and grocery shopping almost always fell upon his shoulders.

“I am the, uh, jokester of the group, aren’t I?” Micky laughed. It was a lovely sound, and Mike got a little _too_ caught up in how nice it sounded, because all of a sudden Davy was poking him on the shoulder.

“If we’re going to get anywhere, love, you sort of need to start the car.”

“Oh, uh, right.”

“Are you okay, Mike?” Micky asked, the usual joking tone to his voice gone. Instead, he sounded serious, caring, and all of a sudden Mike had to concentrate _very_ hard on driving. “You’ve been really spaced out lately.”

“I guess I’ve just been a little tired recently, that’s all.” Mike did his best to sound composed and unconcerned.

“He’s been helping me write,” Peter piped up helpfully. “All kinds’a songs. Maybe we could use some of the for the audition we have coming up.”

“Hey, there’s a good idea, Peter,” Davy grinned. It was obvious enough to Mike that Davy was over that Valleri chick, and the boys just wanted an excuse to get a little tipsy, but who was he to complain? He listened to the boys talk about their upcoming audition, and the gigs it’d hopefully lead to, adding his own input whenever it was necessary.

* * *

 

Though it was against their better judgement, Davy and Mike had let Peter go off with some chick, with a promise that he’d call as soon as he got to her house. He was an adult, yes, and he could handle himself to some extent, but Mike worried. It seemed like lately, all Mike _did_ was worry.

After Davy finally decided he was done, Mike, not for the first time, carried Micky back to the car. Micky, despite the fact that he was built similarly to Mike, couldn’t hold his liquor for shit, and he was babbling incoherently as Mike gently placed him in the backseat.

“You doin’ okay, Micky?” Mike asked cautiously.

“Oh, yeah, Mike, I’m doing amazing, peachy keen, just wonderful,” Micky’s words were slurred and difficult to understand, and he kept spouting them off even as Mike shut the car door. He climbed into the driver’s seat, next to a borderline-tipsy Davy.

“You do like him, don’t you?” Davy grinned as Mike carefully backed out of the parking spot.“Hush, now,” Mike said hurriedly, quickly glancing at the seat to make sure that Micky hadn’t heard. “Don’t want anybody to hear things they shouldn’t be hearin’.”

“You really _are_ a little queer, aren’t you?” Davy said, amazement in his voice. “Well, you’re a bit more of a big queer, aren’t you? Just because you’re a million feet tall.”

“Davy, I said hush,” Mike said sternly. “And please don’t call me a...a,” Mike struggled, but he couldn’t finish his sentence.

“A what?” Davy said it jokingly, but Mike felt as though he was being mocked. “A queer?”

“Davy-”

“Do you prefer cock-sucking fairy?” Davy had a simple grin on his face, but to Mike it looked like the devil himself was smiling through his friend. Mike resisted the urge to pop Davy in the face and instead settled for just yelling.

“Davy!” Mike roared so forcefully that Davy jumped about a mile in the air. “Don’t call me those things! I don’t know _what_ has gotten into you -- I’m hopin’ it’s just ‘cause you’ve had too much to drink -- but don’t _fuckin’_ call me those things.” The hurt was evident in Mike’s face and in his voice, and even Micky mumbled a “don’t” under his breath, though it was impossible to tell if that had any correlation with what had just happened. Mike only ever cussed when he got very upset, which is how Davy knew he’d crossed a line.

“Mike,” Davy sounded as though he’d sobered up a little bit, “Mike, I didn’t mean any harm. I was just trying to joke around.”

“Yeah, well that went great, didn’t it?” Mike said sourly, staring intently at the road in front of him.

“Mike-”

“Davy, you’re the one person on this earth that really and truly knows that I’m not,” Mike lowered his voice when he heard a grumble from Micky in the back, “that I’m not like other people. And I know you figured that out on accident-”

“I did walk in on you having a wank in the shower, yes,” Davy admitted.

“-but that doesn’t mean that I’m not trustin’ you with a lot here.” Mike rarely spoke with this level of vulnerability and openness in his voice, and it made Davy pay much more attention than he would normally. “And I know it’s weird, and probably a lil hard for you to accept, but I’m beggin’ you here, Davy.” Mike’s voice went ghostly quiet for the next sentence, “I don’t think I could stand to have one more person not want me.”

“Mike, it’s not hard for me to accept,” Davy said quietly. “You’re not the only cock-sucking fairy in the car, mate.”

“Huh?” Mike said, and it took him a moment to process. “Davy? But you’re always chasin’ after every girl that walks past you.”

“You can like both, Mike,” Davy said gently, and shrugged a tiny bit. “But don’t you ever worry about me not accepting you. We’re mates, Mike, and as long as you don’t commit any major crimes, we’re going to stay mates.”

Mike said a silent prayer and hoped that Micky hadn’t overhead their conversation.

* * *

 

By the grace of the powers that be, Peter made it home safely the next morning. He was sitting in the kitchen, and cheerfully waved good morning to his friends -- minus Micky, who was nursing a hangover -- as they went to make their breakfasts.

“Oh, hey, Peter!” Mike said, happy to see Peter back home.

“How was your night?” Davy asked curiously, setting his bowl of cereal down next to where Peter sat.

“Oh, it was fantastic.” Peter grinned. “She had some good grass.”

“Aww, c’mon, Peter,” Mike groaned, sitting down on the other side of Peter. “What’d we say about getting high?”

“Well, at least I’m not still in bed like Micky,” Peter defended himself, and try as he might, Mike really couldn’t argue with that. “Will you go for a walk on the beach with me?” Peter asked Mike, as the Texan finished his bowl of cereal several minutes later.

“Don’t see why not,” Mike shrugged. “Let’s go.”

Davy waited until Mike and Peter were out of the pad before going up to check on Micky.

“How much of the conversation did you hear?” Davy asked, sitting on the foot of Micky’s bed. Davy wasn’t as oblivious as Mike, and he’d realized that Micky hadn’t been so drunk he wasn’t paying attention in the car last night.

“Everything after he yelled,” Micky opened his eyes and winced at the bright light flooding the room. “Is he really one of us?”

“You heard him,” Davy shrugged.

“Well,” Micky sighed, “at least this means there’s a chance for me.”


	2. Chapter 2

Davy thought through what Micky had said. So Micky _hadn’t_ heard Mike confess his feelings. He’d just heard Mike say that he was gay.

Well, no, gay probably wasn’t quite right. Davy’d seen how Mike looked at some of the pretty girls they’d been around, and Mike did have a serious girlfriend -- Phyllis, he thought her name was -- when he first came to L.A. Obviously, though, that relationship hadn’t lasted much longer after the move. No, if Davy had to guess, Mike was probably something close to what he and Micky were. Not gay, not straight. Somewhere caught in the middle.

“Can I confess something?” Micky spoke up.

“‘Course, Micky,” Davy turned to face the curly-haired drummer. “We are mates, after all.”

“I think I’ve got a bit of a thing for our Texan,” Micky said, eyes downcast.

“Oh, that’s fan-” Davy began happily, but he stopped himself. If he told Micky that Mike felt the same way, Micky would go way overboard and scare the man off. That’s just how Micky was. And if he told Mike, no matter how sincere he was, the Texan would just assume it was a cruel joke. That’s just how Mike was. Davy was stuck. Thankfully, Micky didn’t realize what had almost come out of Davy’s mouth.

“Too bad he’s probably in love with you or Peter,” Micky sighed, burying his face in a pillow.

“I’m sure if you just talk to him-”

“That’s stupid, Davy,” Micky groaned. “No offense, but that only works in movies and poorly written, cheesy stories.” Davy shrugged. Micky wasn’t exactly wrong. He was just about to say something else when he heard Mike and Peter come in downstairs.

“Peter,” Mike sighed loudly, exasperated, “Peter, _you_ tripped and spilled the ice cream.”

“The ice cream man should’ve given me another one!” Peter sounded very distressed. It was clear that the happy hippy that had been at breakfast was gone. “I didn’t even get one lick before I fell and dropped it everywhere!”

“But, Peter, we got you another one, didn’t we?”

“Yeah,” Peter said thoughtfully. “Thank you, Mike.”

“Of course, babe,” Mike replied, and Davy saw Micky squirm a little bit out of the corner of his eye. _God_ , Micky had it just as bad as Mike did. Davy sighed. It was up to him to get the two together.

“Davy? Micky?” Mike yelled up the stairs. “Y’all home?”

“Sure are, Mike,” Micky responded.

“Y’all want a sandwich? Peter convinced me to buy some fancy sandwich things.”

“Sounds fantastic, love,” Davy yelled back, and he and Micky made their way downstairs.

“Fancy sandwich things,” Micky scoffed, looking at the measly selection Mike had spread out on the table.

“Well, I’d say it’s pretty fancy for a bunch of broke, starvin’ musicians,” Mike said with a half grin. He looked up from the sandwich he was making just in time to catch Micky’s carefree shrug. Micky, who’s skin was slightly flushed and who’s collar was just mussed up enough that Mike could catch a glance of the drummer’s collarbone.

“Mike? Uh, earth to Mike? Earth to Mike?” Micky was waving his hand in front of Mike’s face, trying to get his attention.

“Huh?”

“You’re doing the thing where you stare off into space again,” Micky said, and the concern in his voice was audible, but just barely. “You keep this up, and we’re all going to be worried when you’re _not_ staring into space.”

“Sorry, y’all,” Mike forced a chuckle, “I just must be more worn out than I thought.”

“Or more lovesick than you thought,” Davy said under his breath.

* * *

 

“Mike, love, you’ve got to do something about this,” Davy said later. He and Mike had found some privacy in the pad a couple of hours later -- Peter and Micky were trying to get part of a song all worked out -- and, of course, they were talking about Micky.

“What can I possibly do?” Mike said, hopelessly. “If I bring this up to him, it’s gonna ruin our friendship.” The Texan looked down at his feet.

“I really don’t think it will,” Davy pressed, and Mike raised his head up to look at Davy.

“Oh, what do you know?” Mike snapped. “That boy’s sexuality’s gotta be the exact opposite of his damn hair. Straight.”

“It’s never hurt to try, Mike. You could write him a song.”

“Oh, right. And the first goddamn line would be ‘I’m sorry to ruin our friendship, but I want to suck your cock.’ I don’t think so, Davy,” Mike sighed. “And besides, I’ve written him plenty of songs. Who d’you think all these loves songs I write are about, man?”

“Well, what about that new one that I heard you and Peter singing?” Davy suggested. “I don’t think you’ve sung that one around Micky yet, have you?”

“Which one are you talkin’ about?”

“That one that talks about a love bright as the sun, or something. I thought it was a nice little tune.”

“I did write that one for him,” Mike admitted. “You really think that’d get the job done?”

“Of course,” Davy grinned. “Anyone’d be lucky to get a Michael Nesmith song sung directly to them.”

“If he rejects me, I don’t know what I’ll do.” Mike’s voice had gone from hopeful back to despairing. “Like I said last night, I don’t think I could stand it if one more goddamn person doesn’t want me.”

“Well, Mike, I’m not entirely sure what that means, if I’m honest.”

“Why do you think I left Texas?” Mike said, surprising Davy with the sudden bitterness that flooded his voice. “Mama found out about me an’ this boy, who I’d only seen once or twice, and she kicked me out. My own family, Davy, they don’t want me. My _mama_ don’t want me. And why do you think Phyllis left me? I thought I was goin’ to spend the rest of my life with her. Called me disgustin’ when she found out, she did. That and all kinds of awful things. Phyllis didn’t want me, and I gave _everythin_ ’ to her.”

Davy was beginning to understand why Mike had gotten so hurt in the car yesterday. Davy’d only been called a ‘queer’ or a ‘fairy’ jokingly, lovingly, by his friends. Mike, obviously, hadn’t been so lucky.

“Oh, Mike,” Davy breathed, his heart twisting a little bit when he saw the look of complete and utter misery on Mike’s face. Davy’d always thought that the Texan was hiding something behind his calm, cool demeanor, but nothing like this.

“I’m from a God-fearin’ family, Davy. Even _I_ didn’t want me for the longest time.” Mike paused, to take a deep breath, and Davy noticed he was crying. The calm, cool, collected Texan was _crying._ “And then I ended up here, and y’all have been so good to me. I can’t risk fuckin’ that up. I don’t know what I’ll _do_ if I fuck this up.”

“Hush, love,” Davy said, sitting down on the bed next to Mike and wrapping an arm around his friend.

It was at this exact moment that Micky slowly crept up the stairs. It was late, and he thought Mike might be asleep, but he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw what was going on in their room. Mike was crying? And Davy, of all people, was the one comforting him? Micky was just about to step in and see what was happening when Davy said something else.

“You’re just singing him a song, Mike. Not asking him to marry you. He can’t reject a song, can he?” Davy pointed out. Mike sat up and wiped his eyes. The Texan in him was starting to take over, and he was collecting himself. Sheltering himself. Blocking the part of him that cried off from the rest of the world.

“I guess he can’t really.”

“Besides, it’s kind of romantic, isn’t it? Singing him a song you wrote about him.”

“Oh, stop it,” Mike sniffled. “Stop makin’ it sound better than it actually will be.”

Micky chose that moment to walk into the room.

“Oh, you’re still up?” he said cheerfully, pretending not to notice how Mike ducked away from him to hide his face.

“Just about to go to bed,” Davy smiled, getting up and walking to where Micky stood. “Make sure he knows how much you care about him,” Davy whispered, holding up a hand to silence the drummer when he started to protest. “Not like that, Micky. He just really needs us right now.”

“You okay there, man?” Micky said, cautiously approaching Mike after Davy had walked out of their room.

“Just groovy, babe,” Mike said, but his voice crack and puffy red eyes didn’t do much to convince Micky that he was telling the truth.

“Just, remember we’re here for you. I love you,” well _that_ was a bit gay, “I mean, like, all of us do. Everyone. Peter and Davy included.” Shit, shit, _shit_ , Micky had almost given himself away. He’d almost let Mike know how he _really_ felt.

“Thanks, Mick,” Mike said gratefully. But there it was, he thought miserably. Proof that Micky didn’t really care about him as anything more than a close friend.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike gets up the courage to sing to Micky

“Hey, Mick,” Mike said at breakfast the next day. It was just him and Micky up that early, and Mike was finding it _very_ hard to concentrate with the morning sunlight streaming across Micky’s face. It lit up Micky’s features perfectly, especially his lips. Those lips that Mike had pictured, over and over again, in places where no man was ever supposed to picture another man’s lips. He managed to shake himself out of his thoughts before they went too far, though, and mustered up the courage to ask the question. “Can I run a song by you? It’d be nice to get a second opinion on this one.”

“Of course,” Micky grinned, trying his best to force his heart to stay at a normal pace. This must’ve been the song Mike and Davy had been talking about last night. “I’m always willing to hear a song by the great Robert Michael Nesmith.”

“Oh, we’re using our goddamn full names, are we?” Mike smiled softly, picking up his guitar.

“Of course, Mr. Nesmith,” Micky put on one of his many fake voices -- Mike assumed this one was meant to resemble a snobby rich person, but he wasn’t sure -- and grinned widely, “we always use full names to announce our esteemed musicians.”

“Well, in that case, George Michael Dolenz,” Mike ignored the dirty look Micky shot his direction, “listen up for a groovy little tune.” Mike strummed lightly, gently twisting a few tuners until the guitar sounded perfect. “Now, I don’t have a title for it, and it’ll probably sound a bit better on electric, but I don’t want to get that set up right now, and it’s gonna need a bit of work, some polishing-”

“Just play the song, Mike,” Micky smiled. “I’m sure it’s amazing.”

“Okay,” Mike took a deep breath, and began to play.

_All men must have someone, have someone..._

Mike stumbled a little bit at the beginning, nervous, but as he kept playing, he grew more and more confident.

_...of a love bright as the sun..._

Mike didn't dare risk a look up yet. Instead, he stared intently at his fingers.

_...someone to stand beside them, and you just may be the one..._

Mike wanted to look up so badly, but he knew that if he did, he wouldn’t be able to finish the song. So he didn’t.

_...to win you more than as a friend, I’m starting near the end..._

Now?

_...who would never take advantage..._

Now.

_....of a love bright as the sun..._

Mike timidly looked up, and saw that Micky was glowing, bright as the sun. It wasn’t just the sun behind him, illuminating Micky. No, this was more about the passion in Micky’s eyes, the way he was staring intently at Mike’s fingertips as they danced along the guitar strings, the way his lips were parted ever so slightly. Mike _almost_ forgot how to play. Instead, he put his effort into putting all of his passion, his need, his desire into his voice, and he was pleased to see Micky’s breath hitch in response.

As though Micky understood that the song was almost over, he raised his eyes to Mike’s, and held them there.

_...someone to understand them, and you just may be the one._

Mike let the song hang in the air for a few seconds before saying anything else. As he waited, he realized he was breathing heavily, and Micky’s eyes were still looking directly into his, and he felt like he was about to _explode._ Just when he thought he couldn't possibly take it anymore, Micky broke the silence.

“Well,” Micky exhaled sharply almost a full minute later. Mike was still struggling to find his voice as Micky smirked.

“What’d y’all think of the song?” Mike managed, his voice much gruffer and lower than normal.

“I don’t know why you think it needs any polishing,” Micky said. “I sort of like the roughness of it.”

“Well, thank you,” Mike smiled, “but most of the people we audition for prefer smooth vocals.”

“It’s a shame,” Micky shook his head. “Who’d you write the song for? She must be one real lucky lady, huh?”

“Um,” Mike blanked. One look at Micky’s face, and he lost every ounce of confidence he'd had earlier. “One real lucky...lady. Yep.” Mike bit his lip and looked down, missing the look of confusion on Micky’s face. Micky was so _sure_ that this was the song about him that Davy and Mike had discussed earlier. Earlier, when they were still staring at each other, he’d’ve bet his life on it. Now, though...he wasn’t so sure.

“Do I get to know a name?” Micky pressed, though he knew he probably wouldn’t get an answer.

“N-no,” Mike said hesitantly. He had to admit, he was sort of hoping that Micky would’ve caught on. The song was about _him,_ for Christ’s sake, not some chick. “She’s just...someone I’ve seen a lot. Been in love with for a while.”

“Love, huh?” Micky smiled bittersweetly. He hadn’t realized exactly how much hope he’d placed on this one stupid song until he realized it wasn’t about him. He felt -- _Jesus_ , this was stupid -- he felt crushed. Mike was in _love_ with this girl, and Micky was jealous.

And, unfortunately -- or maybe fortunately, Micky could never tell if it’d work out in his favor or not -- Micky got reckless when he got jealous. And he was very, _very_ jealous right now.

* * *

 

“He’s flirtin’ with me, Davy, I swear,” Mike groaned. It was later that day, after they’d finished practice, and it was just Davy and Mike sitting around the table downstairs. Micky and Peter had gone off to try and find something suitable for dinner that they could afford.

“How do you know that?”

“He grabbed my ass earlier. If that’s not flirtin’,” Mike sighed, “then they must be doin’ things different out here in California than they do in Texas.”

Davy couldn’t help but smile to himself. So, Micky was _finally_ doing something about his feelings.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which feelings are admitted

“I’m gonna tell him, Davy,” Mike said determinedly. 

“That’s a good idea, yeah,” Davy smiled. “Want Peter and I to clear out of here for a little bit?”

“That’d be great. Thanks, babe.”

“Peter? Peter, c’mon, I just saw the ice cream man going down the street!” Davy said loudly, going downstairs to find Peter.

“Oh boy, really? Micky, do you wanna come get ice cream with us?” Peter asked excitedly, and Micky shrugged and nodded.

“Sure, might as-”

“No, Micky, you can’t,” Davy said hastily, “because Mike needs your help with something.”

“Okay then. Peter, be a dear and get me something, will you?”

“Of course, Micky,” Peter nodded excitedly, and then he was practically pulling Davy out of the door, chanting, “Ice cream! Ice cream! Ice cream!” Micky smiled and laughed a little bit before climbing the stairs up to the room he shared with Mike.

“What’s up, Mike?”

“Micky, there’s somethin’ I gotta tell you,” Mike sighed, wringing his hands. He was sitting at the foot of his bed, Micky was up by the head of the bed, and _god_ , Mike had never been this nervous.

“Oh, and what would that be?” Micky said goofily, rolling his eyes when Mike glared a little bit.

“Mick, this is serious.”

“Almost everything you say is serious,” Micky pointed out. “You’re the serious one, Mike.”

“Yeah, well this is _real_ serious, then,” Mike said roughly. “And you better treat it as such, or I’m gonna whoop your ass.”

“Well, what is it, then?”

“I’m gay, Mick.” Silence. _Fuck._ “Queer, fairy, however you wanna say it.”

“I know, Mike,” Micky said gently, and a look of such confusion plastered itself on Mike’s face that the drummer had to stifle a laugh.

“How in the hell did you know?”

“I heard your conversation with Davy, that one night. In the car. When you thought I was passed out drunk.”

_Shit._

“How,” Mike’s voice made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, and he tried to collect himself, “how much did you hear?”

“Everything,” Micky said, because he thought he had.

“Well,” Mike laughed softly, but it was a what-the-fuck-do-I-do-now laugh, and Micky didn’t like how it sounded. It wasn’t very Mike. “It doesn’t make you feel, weirded out or whatever?”

“No, of course not,” Micky said, reassuringly.

“Oh, god,” Mike said despairingly, resting his head in his hands. All he could think was that this mean that he could add Micky to the list of people that didn’t want him. Just like Mama and Phyllis and most of his old friends.

Micky must’ve known, then, that the song was for him, Mike realized, and felt like crawling into a hole and dying. Mike had put himself out there with the song, and Micky had only tortured him by asking who the song was about.

Micky didn’t _want_ him.

“Shit, no, don’t feel bad,” Micky panicked. Almost instantly, Micky’d gone from gentle and reassuring to oh-shit-please-don’t-cry. “Don’t, Mike, please.” Micky couldn’t stand seeing Mike so upset.

“I guess,” Mike sat up and starting wiping at his eyes with the heels of his hands, “I guess I’ll ask Davy if he doesn’t mind switching rooms with me.”

“What?” Micky asked, absolutely bewildered, “Why would we do that?”

“You know how I feel about you, and obviously you don’t feel the same about me, and I don’t want it to make sharin’ a room weird or somethin’.” Mike was trying very hard to keep the heartbreak from his voice, but it wasn’t working. “Don’t wanna be a pain.”

“Mike, what are you _talking_ about?”

“You said you heard everythin’,” Mike said hesitantly.

“All I heard was you and Davy talking about being queer, Mike.”

“Oh, god,” Mike groaned, putting his head back in his hands. He’d given himself away to Micky for no goddamn reason.

“Oh, stop that,” Micky tried to sound joking, but he was too focused on the fact that Mike had just admitted his feelings. “Mike, please.” Micky lightly tapped Mike’s shoulder, and the Texan wearily raised his head. “Mike?”

“Yeah?” Mike responded in what Micky could only describe as a tear-stained voice.

“Did you write that song for me?” Micky asked curiously, and his heart swelled when Mike nodded softly in response.

“Thought you knew that.”

“No,” Micky whispered, “no, Mike, I just knew you were queer.”

“God, so I just told you I’m in love with you, thinkin’ you already knew and you didn’t. _Jesus,_ I’m a dumbass.”

“No, Mike,” Micky sighed. “You’re not, because I feel the same way.”

“Like hell you do.”

Sometimes, Micky couldn’t _stand_ how stubborn Mike could be. Once the Texan made up his mind about something, he refused to accept anything else.

“Yes, Mike, I do,” Micky pressed. “I do. I’ve been in love with you for...for forever, it feels like, and when you sand that song and then said it _wasn’t_ for me I about died.”

“So,” Micky saw the gears in Mike’s head turning, “so you don’t want me to trade rooms with Davy?”

“No, stupid,” Micky grinned, relaxing a little bit when he saw an uncertain smile spread across Mike’s face. “In fact, I have a feeling Peter and Davy will be glad we share a room later, though.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean, shotgun?” Mike asked, and god _damn_ it, there were still tears in his eyes. One of them spilled over and ran down his cheek, and when Micky hesitantly leaned in and kissed it, Mike _lost_ it. Before he knew what he was doing, Mike had flipped Micky over onto his back and was lying on top of the boy, propped on his elbows so he was just inches from the drummer.

“Oh, this is a nice side to you,” Micky smiled smugly, and Mike gave his best seductive smile in response.

The first kiss was rough and needy, pure lust, but they fell into a rhythm soon enough. Eventually, Mike got tired of just Micky’s lips, and went exploring. He landed on Micky’s collarbone, and _god,_ he liked the way gasped in response. Mike stopped for a split second, but kept going when Micky groaned disappointedly.

“Please don’t stop,” Micky breathed, and Mike smirked against the drummer’s collarbone.

“Oh, you mean like this?” Mike took his lips off of Micky’s skin and drew his hands out from under Micky’s shirt, propping himself back up on his elbows.

“Mike,” Micky whined, “Mike, please.”

“I like how you’re beggin’ for this, shotgun.”

Micky just groaned in response, and Mike couldn’t hold out any longer because he’d been fantasizing about this for months. Months, and now it was happening, and _fuck_ did Micky look good, all flushed and red and _eager_ like that, and Mike was just about to do away with more of the drummer’s clothing when the door to their bedroom swung open.

“I’ve got your ice cream!”

“Davy?” Micky said in a strangled voice.

“I’ll be leaving now,” Davy said almost instantly, at the same time as Mike yelled,

“ _Jesus_ , Davy, have you not heard of knocking?” He leaned back, rolled off of Micky, and was more than a bit pleased to hear the drummer struggling to catch his breath. _He’d_ done that to Micky.

“I’m going to go back downstairs.”

“Aw, don’t bother, Davy,” Mike drawled, “the moment’s gone anyways.”

“No, I think,” Davy frantically tried to make up an excuse, “I think I heard Peter calling for me anyways.” And with that, Davy was gone and the door was shut again.

“That was,” Micky was still breathing a little heavy, “that was _very_ nice.”

“Well, there’s more of that comin’, shotgun,” Mike grinned, and then they were kissing again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mike is very, very sad

“Well, that was,” now it was Mike’s turn to fight for breath as he fell into bed next to Micky, “that was even better than I’d hoped it’d be.”

“Mmm, so you’ve thought of this before, have you?” Micky asked, snuggling up to Mike as the Texan pulled him close.

“Did you not hear the bit in the car about Davy walkin’ in on me in the shower?” Mike grinned when he heard Micky laugh a little bit.

After a minute or two of happy silence, Micky let out a contented sigh. The happiness that was resonating off of Micky made Mike happy, and it made Mike even happier to realize that he had caused it. And, just like that, Mike was crying. Again.

Son of a _bitch._

“Mike, what’s wrong?” Micky panicked, twisting around so that he was looking at the Texan. “Did I do something? What is it?”

“Naw, shotgun,” Mike tried his best to sound reassuring, but he was crying so it wasn’t very convincing, “no, it wasn’t you. I’m screwed up, or somethin’.” Well, shit. Now Mike was going to have to explain himself to Micky. He never cried, _never_ , but it was like Micky had come along and opened the pipes and Mike was a wreck.

“Well, obviously, something’s wrong, honey.”

“I just,” Mike could _not_ find the words to explain himself, but he tried, “I never really expected to feel this _loved_. At least, not by someone who knows who -- or, really, I guess what -- I am.”

“Surely there are other people, Mike,” Micky said softly, brushing Mike’s mussed hair out of his eyes. His heart sank a little bit when Mike sighed and shook his head.

“It’s you and Davy, darlin’. You’re the only ones that know that still love me.” Mike could barely get the words out without dissolving into shoulder-shaking sobs. Micky tenderly started to wipe some of the tears away from Mike’s eyes, but the Texan managed to collect himself and keep talking before top long. “The rest of ‘em, they found out, and they didn’t want me.”

“Mike, I’m so sorry.”

“Mama, she found out,” Mike hiccuped a little bit, “Mama found out from my high school math teacher. Mr. Burns caught me suckin’ Jack off behind school one day, and it was gone. You wanna know what Mama said when I got home the next day?”

No, Micky did _not_ want to hear, but he gathered that Mike was going to say something anyways, so he nodded softly.

“She called me a fuckin’ fag. A stain on humanity. And she was cryin’, Mick. Oh, how she was cryin’. I felt so bad about makin’ her cry. I didn’t _want_ to make her cry. She told me to get the fuck out of her house.” Mike was choking on his tears, and all Micky could think to do was gently rub his back, and arms, and shoulders, and hope that was getting his message across. “Right in front of the kids, too. All of five of ‘em. Catherine was five years old and she had to hear Mama yellin’ at her big brother to get out of the house.

So I spent the night at my dad’s house. Told him Mama and I had a fight. Thought I’d be safe there. Mama must’ve called him, or somethin’, because when I woke up, he was madder than a hornet. Asked me why I’d hurt Mama so bad, after all she’d done for me. He punched me pretty bad, I ended up with a black eye that stuck around for about two weeks.”

Micky didn’t know how to respond, but his eyes were welling up with tears. The thought of someone hurting Mike _, his_ Mike, was almost too much to bear.

“And then I met Phyllis, and thought I’d be okay. Thought I’d be able to hide it, y’know? It didn’t work out so well. I told her one night. I figured we were close enough that it wouldn’t put her off, or anythin’. But, of course,” Mike sighed. He was still crying, but it wasn’t as intense, “it did. She just kept hittin’ me, over and over, sayin’ ‘homo, homo, homo.’” Micky had never, not once, heard somebody sound so absolutely _miserable._ “And she wasn’t physically hurtin’ me, she was too weak, but it was awful. God, it was _awful._ ”

“Mike, honey,” Micky pressed a gentle kiss to to Mike’s tear-stained cheek, “honey, you don’t have to talk about this.”

“It’s good to get if off of my chest.” Micky felt the Texan shrug. “If you don’t mind me tellin’ my sob story.”

“No, Mike. Not at all.”

“I guess, I guess I’m just a bit surprised you don’t hate me, shotgun.”

“Of course not, Mike. How could I hate you?” Micky traced Mike’s jawline with the tips of his fingers. “You’re beautiful.”

“No, I’m not,” Mike grumbled, but the tears were slowing. Micky was, slowly, calming him down. “I ain’t beautiful.”

“Yes. Oh, _yes_ , you are.” Micky wiped yet more tears off of Mike’s cheeks, and relaxed a little as he realized there were no more coming. “You’re beautiful here,” Micky kissed Mike’s cheek, “and here,” Mike’s jaw, “and here,” the tip of Mike’s nose, “and here...”

It was ridiculously cheesy and cliché, but Mike couldn’t help but smile a little bit.

“You really think so?”

“Of course, honey,” Micky smiled. “You’re gorgeous.”

“Even with these sideburns the size of Texas?” Mike laughed weakly.

“Well, they’re a bit scratchy on the thighs-”

“ _Mick!”_

“But cute. Like you.”

“Thanks, Mick,” Mike murmured, burying his head in Micky’s curls.

“And, you know, we’re here for you. Davy and Peter and I. Well, mostly me, at this point,” Micky said, though his words were a little muffled against Mike’s skin. “We don’t hate you, babe. We’re not _going_ to hate you.”

“That means,” aw, _shit_ , Mike was going to cry again, “that means a lot, darlin’.”

“Mike-”

“I’m not sad, Micky,” Mike smiled feebly, even though Micky couldn’t see it. “That just _really_ means a lot to me. But I’m wore out, darlin’. From crying’ so goddamn much, and from kissin’ you.”

“Mmm,” Micky somehow managed to nestle closer to Mike, “today was good.”

“Today was damn good, shotgun,” Mike could barely keep his eyes open, “Damn good.”


End file.
